The Dazzling Ones
by DevlinV1
Summary: [FIN:2004:Slash:RAPE:Sequel to The Pretty Ones:Joint fic w baslady & GibblyWibbly] Helms, Hardy, Jericho, & Christian recount some of the nonconsensual encounters that take place in locker rooms.
1. Seductive Shane Helms

**The Dazzling Ones**

**By Archangel, baslady, and GibblyWibbly**

_Archangel's Notes: This story is the sequel to "The Pretty Ones." In these chapters we focus on RAW superstars instead of Smackdown! ones. Enjoy!_

_**Seductive Shane Helms**_

**_By GibblyWibbly (aka HurriKaty)_**

I _can't_ believe I trusted you. How stupid could I have been? I watch your grinning face as you rape me. I hate you. You disgust me, you son of a rabid bitch. You won't get a sound from me if that's what you're thinking. Not a whimper, not a moan or groan. Nothing.

You can take my body, but not my soul, not my spirit, not me. I still can't believe I let myself get close to you. You fucking maggot. I'll be the laughing stock of the whole damn locker room when this gets out. I can see it now as you do this to me. _Hurricane raped by his tag team partner Rosey._ You're gonna pay for this you know.

Why the hell are you speeding up? Ow, you fucker, that hurts! Stop, please, stop. My God, why are you letting this happen to me? What did I do to piss you off so badly that you have to have this fucking asshole rape me? Huh? Answer me.

No I ain't gonna scream, I ain't gonna moan, and you ain't gonna break me. No. No. No. No. I refuse. I boycott. Clench your teeth together and find a happy place, Shane. It ain't no good; it hurts too much.

Fuck, no, I can't be crying, but I am. I feel the wetness on my cheeks. Ugh, never mind that's from your tongue. I can't believe I let you corner me; it's all my fault. I let you do this to me. How could I have been so damn stupid? Hurry the hell up and finish so I can go scrub my skin raw.

Quit slapping me. Is this what you do to your wife when you climb your fat ass on her and fuck her? Huh?_ Slap her? Choke her? Beat her?_ I bet she hates you, too._ I can't breathe!_ Let go of my wind pipe. Better yet don't. That way I'll pass out and won't have to look at your face anymore. Kill me; do it. I dare you.

I think I'm gonna puke. Get off of me, you asshole, get off so I can throw up. You didn't have to just drop me on the floor. Oh yes, beat me, rape me and throw me away. Do you have any idea how much I wanna kill you right now?

Do you? If not I'll show you as soon as I can stop hurting enough to pull myself up in a sitting position. I wonder, have you ever been bitten in the kneecap? I'll be more than happy to show you how it feels.

"You know you weren't half bad… partner."

I don't hear you. You ain't any partner of mine. All I can do is lay here on the cool floor of this locker room. Waiting for someone to find me, to help me.

I hear you leave and then, only then, do I allow myself the pleasure of my tears.

**End Chapter 1**

_Legalities: Shane Helms, and any other mentioned characters are property of World Wrestling Entertainment. I claim no knowledge of each of the characters sexual preferences or lives. This is a story of fiction, none of these events are real. I received absolutely no profit from this story._


	2. Magnetic Matt Hardy

**The Dazzling Ones**

**By Archangel, baslady, and GibblyWibbly**

_Archangel's Notes: This story is the sequel to "The Pretty Ones." In these chapters we focus on RAW superstars instead of Smackdown! ones. Enjoy!_

_**Magnetic Matt Hardy**_

_**By baslady**_

People always think it was Jeff. That's partly my fault, I suppose. Over the years, I had plenty of chances to stand up and set the record straight, but I never said a word.

Until now.

It should have been him. Not that I'm saying I wanted it to be him. I didn't. I love my brother, and I always did my best to protect him. If I wasn't always able to, I'm sorry, but I tried.

Still, it should have been him. Jeff was the pretty one. Jeff was the sexy one. He was the one all the guys stared at that first time in the locker room, when he was only 17 and he still had that silly Vanilla Ice haircut. Jeff was the one with the big green eyes, the soft, perfect skin, the honey voice and the incredible ass. (Yeah, I know, he's my brother. You'd have noticed too, if you'd watched him walking around naked all the time.)

Don't get me wrong. I know I'm not bad looking. I've been told I have nice eyes, and I know for a fact that some people, both women and men, like my pouty lips. But I'm not Jeff. I never had the raw sensuality that he had, even so young.

Besides, they all knew, from the first scent of him, that he was vulnerable. Young, inexperienced, still uncertain about his own sexuality. He was their perfect prey. They hardly even noticed me.

I'll never forget finding Jeff after my match that night, sitting in the parking lot with his bag at his feet and his arms around his knees. He tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, but I could tell he'd been crying. It wasn't hard to guess why. I'd seen the way the guys had been looking at him, overheard the whispers. When he said he didn't want to talk about it, I didn't press him.

It wasn't until later that night, in the hotel room we were sharing, that I learned what had happened. I awoke to find Jeff crawling into my bed, sniffling. Since we were kids, Jeff has always crawled into my bed at night when something was bothering him. You would have thought that it would have gotten awkward as we got older, but it hadn't. Not yet. When Jeff curled up at my side, I just put my arm around him and rubbed his back until he felt ready to talk.

He started by saying that he didn't like it there, that it was too hard, that he wasn't any good and they probably weren't even going to let him wrestle the next night. He pleaded with me to let him go home. When I didn't give in, he told me the truth. During my match, one of the guys had cornered him in the locker room. He hadn't hurt him, really, just said some things, felt him up a little, but it had scared Jeff badly. He seemed to blame himself, though I'll never understand why.

When I threw off the blankets and reached for my clothes, he panicked, grabbing at me, demanding to know where I was going. I made myself take a deep breath and slow down long enough to try and reassure him, not that it did much good. In the end, I just left him sitting there in a tangle of my blankets, crying.

I'm the kind of person who approaches problems head on. I don't spend much time sitting around wondering what to do. I pick a course of action, and I go. That night was no different. A few minutes later, I was standing in front of another hotel room door, pounding for all my worth. When the door jerked open, I damn near fell over myself. I took a moment to recover, but then I was off, cursing at the bastard who'd dared put his hands on my brother, making every sort of random threat, generally trying to sound bigger and badder than I was.

I didn't even see the punch coming. One moment I was swearing my head off and the next I was falling, hitting the door jam on the way down. Dazed, I barely even felt the extra pair of hands grabbing me by the shoulders, pulling me into the room. My head cleared the instant I heard the door slam closed behind me.

It doesn't matter what exactly happened. It doesn't. That's what I told myself. That's what I always tell myself. All that mattered was making sure Jeff was safe. They laughed when I begged. I knelt on the hotel room floor, naked, bleeding, in far too much pain to be embarrassed, and swore to do whatever they wanted. They laughed, but a deal is a deal. They left Jeff alone.

The worst time came right after we got our contracts. We endured the same crap that every other new guy goes through, but it seemed word had spread that while Jeff was off limits, I was not. There were some sick fucks in the company then. Hell, there still are. If you read my book, then you know that in our early days, we pissed off a certain foul-mouthed, overgrown, talent-less Texan who deserves to die in a puddle of his own vomit, because we failed to pull some stupid prank. What you don't know is that I'm the one who made amends for that failure. I don't remember much. After being forced to drink most of a six-pack, when you'd never had a drink in your life, you wouldn't remember much either. I can't imagine what Jeff must have thought when I staggered into our hotel room the next morning, sick as a dog and so torn up I could barely walk. We never talked about it.

If later, others got their hands on him, and I know they did, it was beyond my control. He got tired of his big brother constantly looking over his shoulder. He felt smothered. He said that I was trying to control him, and maybe I was. He wanted freedom. I just wanted him to be safe, to be happy. I suppose I failed him on both accounts, but I tried. The day he called me and told me he was quitting, I hung up the phone and cried. That's not something I do very often. I can probably count the number times I've _really_ cried on one hand. I was just so angry and sad and relieved. He'll probably never know what I did for him, what I did for us. That's okay. He wouldn't understand.

_I_ got us into the big show. _I_ earned us the tag titles._I_ made us the main event.

So what if I got us there on my knees?

So what if I earned those titles on my back?

So what if the main event meant another night lying to my girlfriend about where I'd been and making excuses about how I was too tired to make love to her so she wouldn't see the bruises?

I paid our dues. Every time I found myself shoved up against the shower wall, felt those hands on me again, those teeth marking me, that's what I thought about. I was paying our dues, that's all. Pain is part of this job. You learn to live with it, or you quit. I've never been a quitter.

**End Chapter 2**

_Legalities: Matt Hardy, and any other mentioned characters are property of World Wrestling Entertainment. I claim no knowledge of each of the characters sexual preferences or lives. This is a story of fiction, none of these events are real. I received absolutely no profit from this story._


	3. Captivating Chris Irvine

**The Dazzling Ones**

**By Archangel, baslady, and GibblyWibbly**

_Archangel's Notes: This story is the sequel to "The Pretty Ones." In these chapters we focus on RAW superstars instead of Smackdown! ones. Enjoy!_

_**Captivating Chris Irvine**_

_**By Archangel**_

What do you do when your best friend rapes you? I still don't know and it's been nearly a year since it happened. How do you remain friends with them? How do you look them in the eye? I dunno the answer to that either, but somehow I still manage to do it everyday.

Part of me keeps on saying that it isn't his fault. Well, it sure as hell isn't mine either! Still, I keep telling myself that he didn't mean to do it. He didn't really want to do that to me. That's why he cried. That's why he apologized. That's why he stayed away from me until I finally approached him again.

That was the strangest thing I've ever done. I walked straight up to my rapist and gave him a hug. I held him and cried on his shoulder while he cried on mine, and then we went out to the bar and got plastered. I don't remember the rest of that night, but I remember waking up the next morning naked in his arms and this time not aching in pain.

I'm skipping around a lot aren't I? Let me try this again.

About a year ago was when I was first attacked. It wasn't that different from any of the locker room horror stories you hear. I've heard so many of those stories from the likes of Matt Hardy, Shawn Michaels, and more recently from even the powerful Dave Batista. It seems as though no matter who you are there's always someone out there bigger than you who's just waiting for you to bend over and pick up the soap. It like a prison shower. I never, never, _never_ thought that I would be falling into that same horrible moment. And even when I _had_ considered it I had imagined it would be most likely coming from someone twice my size and half my intelligence.

That's why it was so easy for it to happen in the first place. I saw him coming. I actually looked at him and smiled before turning my back to him willingly. I trusted him. I completely trusted him with everything I had. And he betrayed me with one violent shove of my head into the wall. I think he was trying to knock me out so I wouldn't be awake through it. On the other hand, if he really didn't want to do it then how come he was raging hard and came so quickly?

Those were the longest fifteen minutes of my life. That's all it took. A little fifteen minutes, if that. Fifteen minutes of the absolute worst torture I'd ever endured. I wish I could say I was one of the ones that didn't cry, that didn't scream. I wish I could, but I couldn't help it. The only moisture between us was water from the shower. I had no experience of taking it like that. The few times I'd been with men I was not on the receiving end. He tore me open and I screamed without even trying to hold back. As soon as he had me I completely lost all control over my own mind or body. I struggled and fought, screamed in protest, only making it more difficult on myself. And as it progressed my protests turned into pleads for mercy, my yells turning into wails filled with tears. I wouldn't say he broke me exactly. It was more like causing temporary insanity. Or perhaps inducing a nervous breakdown.

When it was over I realized he was crying just as hard as I was. I also realized we weren't alone. There were witnesses. Not only had he done this to me, but he had done it in front of others. I was humiliated beyond all belief. If I'd had the strength to stand afterwards I would've probably killed him right there. I would've ripped his cock off with my bare hands and left him there to bleed to death. Instead he only let me down to the floor, made sure the water raining down on me was warm, and ran away. The audience thankfully left me alone as well. I was found a few hours later by some of the other guys on the show. Thankfully no one asked me who had done it. It seems as though everyone knows better than to ask such a thing or to report such activity to authorities.

For months afterwards I was a complete wreck. I didn't dare even step foot in the locker room unless I was surrounded by a huge group of people I knew wouldn't touch me. And as for him… I steered as clear from him as my job would allow. It was horrible to be so alone, so betrayed, after he and I had been friends for so long. We were so close and he had to utterly destroy me.

But then some of the others started talking to me about him. They asked me what was wrong with him, what had happened to him. I wasn't sure what to think until I started paying attention. He was dying. Slowly but surely he was killing himself. I knew it because I was doing the same, but nowhere near the extent he had taken it. He was starving himself, cutting himself, letting himself get the shit beat out of him in the ring, purposely botching moves in attempts to injure himself. Talk about reckless. And I thought I was bad.

So finally I approached him. I waited until I knew he was alone in the locker room. He was in the shower, exactly like the day he had come after me, and I came after him now. I think he expected me to do it to him. He expected me to rape him. He barely glanced over his shoulder, he set aside his razor and shaving cream, and he just waited. We were both trembling. Did I mention both nude as well? I don't know why I had stripped down, but something inside of me had told me to do it. Maybe part of me had intended to fuck him to death.

At last I turned him around. I already had tears spilling over my cheeks before that and I could tell the moisture on his face wasn't from the shower. I stepped up to him and wrapped my arms tight around his waist, holding him against me as if he were my lover. In a demented way I suppose he was. He started sobbing instantly, blubbering explanations and apologies, begging my forgiveness. Odd. Last time it was me begging him for something. Something that he didn't give.

"_Forgive me. Please, Chris, forgive me. I'll fucking kill myself if you don't."_

"_I can forgive you, but I won't ever forget what you did. It was strike one. Three of them and you're out."_

Lamer words have never been spoken. It was the stupidest and cheesiest thing to ever come past my lips. Yeah, even cheesier than that whole 'downtown to China Town' thing. I meant it, though. It seemed to comfort him some. I told him how much I missed him and how much I hated him and how badly I longed for our friendship and how badly I longed for his love. I think I poured out every single emotion I'd ever had for him. Most of them were negative I'm sad to say. He must've ignored those ones, though. He kissed me. Soft and tender. My friend. My rapist. And now my one and only.

That night he eased every single pain he'd caused me. He cherished my body like a priceless possession. I'd never been so contented. I had never had an orgasm that made me sigh instead of moaning or screaming, but what he gave to me was the gentlest love I'd ever felt. It had lasted all night. An entire night for one small shudder of ecstasy that somehow seemed more powerful and meaningful than any moment before.

To this day I still don't understand any of it. He won't tell me about the things that led to that terrible day in the shower. He says he doesn't want me to ever think about those things ever again. He's so loving. I hate him still. No matter how much I cling to him and need him and would never ever risk losing his friendship, I still hate him so much. What he did to me can never be forgotten. It stays with me every day of my life. There's just too much that time cannot erase, as that one song says.

_But you still have all of me._

**End Chapter 3**

_Legalities: Chris Irvine is copyright to himself. Christian Cage is copyright to TNA Wrestling. Ric Flair, Triple H, and any other mentioned characters are property of World Wrestling Entertainment. I claim no knowledge of each of the characters sexual preferences or lives. This is a story of fiction, none of these events are real. I received absolutely no profit from this story._


	4. Resplendent Jay Reso

**The Dazzling Ones**

**By Archangel, baslady, and GibblyWibbly**

_Archangel's Notes: This story is the sequel to "The Pretty Ones." In these chapters we focus on RAW superstars instead of Smackdown! ones. Enjoy!_

_**Resplendent Jason Reso**_

_**By Archangel**_

How do you live with yourself when you've been put through such hellish torture that you can't even take a single step without still feeling the pain?

Grit your teeth and bear it.

How do you live with yourself when you've inflicted that same torture upon the only man in your life that you think you can truly love for the rest of time?

You don't.

Unless of course they forgive you. In which case you live for those moments when you're with them that feel normal and almost happy. You dedicate yourself to making it up to them. Forget everything that you feel. Don't feel for yourself. Feel for them and them only. Give over everything you are, everything you have, and don't ever stop loving them for one single second. And above all else: **do not ever hurt them again**.

If only I had just disagreed. If I had refused I could've saved him. If I hadn't been so weak and selfish. I could've saved Chris. I could've saved him from me.

I don't know what I was thinking. I don't think I was thinking at all. I felt so lost, so helpless, so desperate. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted them to leave me alone. I still can't walk quite right thanks to the countless time I was forced to my knees by them, having permanent bruises that will never heal on my knees and being so shredded that I can never hope to ever sit on even the softest chair for more than an hour before the pain becomes unbearable. I still can't swallow without pain from having their hands around my neck and their dicks down my throat. I have scars from the whips and chains and cuffs.

You think Adam's neck injury was simply from the job? Yeah. Keep right on believing that. He was their toy before he left. So of course I was next. Not that I blame him for this. No. It's their fault and no one else's. The monsters.

I will not name them. I don't want to die.

It was that need to live that fueled my determination to get away from them. They promised. They swore that it would stop. I'd never be touched by any of them ever again. All it would take was one simple act. One single man. At first they wanted me to deliver him into their hands. That I could never do. Never. I refused no matter what they did to me. I think it was when they accidentally hospitalized me that they realized Chris was far too precious for me to let them have. So they approached it from a different angle.

Take him. Take him for all he was worth. Take everything I had learned from being their bitch and put it into him. One time. One single solitary moment. It would be short and sweet and I would enjoy it because I already wanted him and loved him so much. No big deal. Just let them watch. Have sex with my precious idol and be set free from this existence of suffering? It didn't sound like a bad idea. So it was set up. I showed up when I was supposed to. Chris was there, open, naked, vulnerable, and so completely beautiful. Then it was pointed out that I had to make him hurt. I had to hurt him. It was part of the deal. It couldn't be sex. It had to be rape.

"_Come now, Jason. Just do this one little thing and you'll never have to do anything for us ever again."_

"_And we won't go after him or anything either. We'll move elsewhere."_

"_You'll be free."_

Free. That one word must've set my mind. I wanted to be free. I tried so hard to tell myself that I could do it without hurting him. I could make him scream, maybe even cry, without actually hurting him. I nearly lost my nerve when he smiled at me. So stunning. Utterly captivating. His beauty is what kept me hard. I couldn't be that near to him and not be completely aroused. I ached for him. So I did as I was told. I took him without warning. I forced myself upon him. I was as gentle as I possibly could be, but no amount of gentility would've saved my virgin lover. Even if I had lubed him up, prepared him, and made love to him as slowly as possible, he still would've hurt. So when I thrust into him with nothing more than water as moisture he instantly screamed in agony. I stopped. I don't think he realized it, but I stopped for a good long moment. I stared at my owners and thought long and hard about what I was doing. I closed my eyes and pretended his screams were for more, pretended it was all just a game we were playing together. I imagined that he was loving it and simply acting his part well. It was more than enough to get me off in record time.

But then I opened my eyes. He was wailing, trapped weakly between me and the wall, still pleading for me to let him go. That was when I broke. Funny huh? I raped him yet it broke me, not him. I was sobbing even louder than he was as I let him down to the floor as easily as I could. He wouldn't push me away, but instead curled away from my touch, tucked himself into a little ball of shivering ravaged flesh. It was too much for me to bear. I fled.

I was free.

And I wanted to die.

Yet not long after it all happened, the one man that I had thought lost to me forever suddenly came into my arms. He came back to me. I had completely destroyed him, broken him down in so many ways, weakened his soul. Yet he came back to save me. He pulled me out of my downward spiral.

He kissed me.

He let me make love to him.

I died in his arms that night. I was finally truly free.

I live every moment for him. I give up everything for him. I'm not worthy of anything this world has to offer. I live only to make him happy. I love him more than I can ever put into words. I'll never be able to make it up to him. Never. A thousand lifetimes would never be enough time to apologize to him. So I work each day to dedicate myself to him more and more. I would kill myself if he told me to. I would slay all of civilization if he said it had to be done. There is nothing in this world that he can request that is beyond my reach. I will die loving him.

Someday he'll say the same to me.

And I'll have to tell him never to say it again.

I don't deserve his love.

I only deserve his hatred, which I know is right below the surface no matter how he tries to hide it.

They set me free…

…so that I could bound myself to him.

**The End**

_Legalities: Chris Irvine is copyright to himself. Christian Cage is copyright to TNA Wrestling. Ric Flair, Triple H, and any other mentioned characters are property of World Wrestling Entertainment. I claim no knowledge of each of the characters sexual preferences or lives. This is a story of fiction, none of these events are real. I received absolutely no profit from this story._


End file.
